


Returning The Favor

by jamestiqueeriuskirk



Series: Steps [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angsty Schmoop, Bottom Lucifer, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Human Lucifer, I mean there's a little plot but it's really just an excuse for porn, M/M, Men of Letters Headquarters, PWP, Top Sam, mentions of a dubcon situation (not between Sam and Lucifer) that might make people uncomfortable, written for team fuck lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestiqueeriuskirk/pseuds/jamestiqueeriuskirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bed dipped beside him, and Sam almost panicked. Almost. Of all the things that could be held against Sam Winchester, never let it be said that he ran scared when the Devil got in bed with him. Actually, that might be a mark against him. He honestly wasn’t sure anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Returning The Favor

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe it, the first fic I've written in years and it's porn. About the Devil, no less. Enjoy.
> 
> Suggested Listening: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JF8BRvqGCNs

 

The bed dipped beside him, and Sam almost panicked. Almost. Of all the things that could be held against Sam Winchester, never let it be said that he ran scared when the Devil got in bed with him. Actually, that might be a mark against him. He honestly wasn’t sure anymore.

  
“Sam,” Lucifer murmured, nearly imperceptible.

  
For the briefest of moments, Sam considers just getting up and walking away. It might make things even more strained, and awkward, maybe crumble any chance there was that things would ever be normal between then (and that’s a real laugh, considering that when it comes to a personal relationship with Satan there isn’t much of a “normal” to go by). It’s just the briefest of moments, but still, the thought passes through his mind, because if he’s being honest with himself, he’s frightened by this, this thing, strange and unnamable, that’s been slowly building between them since Lucifer arrived, and he’s not sure he wants to see it through to its inevitable but unspoken conclusion. Jesus, thoughts like that one made him grateful Lucifer was no longer able to read his mind.

  
“Sam,” Lucifer entreats, trying again, voice louder this time but tone somehow softer, more vulnerable.

  
If there’s one thing he’s learned from years of secrets and pain it’s that not talking about something in the hopes that it will go away has never and will never work, so, tempted as he is to try for an exception, he sets his book on the nightstand and turns, deliberately, to face the figure that has climbed into his bed and made itself welcome there.

  
Well, maybe welcome is the wrong word for it. More than anything, Lucifer looks nervous, his eyes trained steadily on Sam’s face but his hands trembling, faintly, though he seems to be trying to combat that by fiddling with the fraying edges of his jeans where his legs are crossed in front of him, and really, he’d had those for less than a month, how can they be fraying already, it had been less than a _month_ since he’d shown up to the bunker, dehydrated and pleading incoherently for _Sam_ , and they’d taken him in despite Dean’s adamant protests.

  
“Sam,” he starts, parroting his two earlier attempts to engage the other man. “I…” at this he trails off, minute furrows appearing on his brow, as if he were unable to articulate what he came for.

  
Aware it might be better to simply let the conversation sputter off and die there, Sam scoots closer. Only marginally, a few inches, but the bed is small enough and they large enough for it to bring them shockingly near each other, near enough to reach out and touch.

  
“Lucifer?” Sam questions, and really, the name shouldn't fit so comfortably in his mouth; Sam should not feel so at ease with Satan on his tongue, and _wow_ , his mind really could have phrased that better, things were tense enough as is.

  
Lucifer’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Sam tries hard not to think about what it means that his eyes trace its progress, predatorily.

  
“Why am I here?” Lucifer finally manages, sounding almost ashamed of the question.

  
It is then Sam’s turn to furrow his brow.

  
“What do you mean?”

  
“I mean,” and here Lucifer pauses, though whether to collect his thoughts or swallow his fabled pride, Sam is unsure. “What is it that could have brought you to open your home to me, Sam? You gain nothing from this. You never have.”

  
Sam frowns at that, shifting so that their knees are just brushing, and peers at Lucifer. His eyes are trained on Sam, and there is profound unhappiness where there was once only flat ice.

  
“We were made for each other, Sam,” he reminds, and his voice is bitter. “Equals. It was the will of the Divine that we complete one another.”

  
“Hey,” Sam tries. “Going against the will of the Divine is pretty much what we do.” And he can scarcely believe he’s- god, he’s comforting Lucifer, who’s apparently still upset that he’s unable to use Sam as his meatsuit any longer, but he can’t help it. Seeing Lucifer like this does things to his heart, things that make it near impossible for him to continue the denial he’s perfectly happy residing in, thank you very much.

  
“It is,” Lucifer agrees, and Sam wonders if he’s imagining the faintest hint of pride in Lucifer's voice. He practically invented sticking it to the big man upstairs, after all. “But not every aspect of destiny ought to be fought, Sam. Things could have been perfect. Things should have been perfect. You and I joined as one. It might have been rapture.

  
Sam bites his tongue to keep himself from mumbling “literally” because antagonizing Lucifer while he’s trying to get this whatever-it-is out of his system is far from a good idea.

  
“It wasn’t, of course. You let me in, but you didn’t _want_ what was laid out for us,” and his tone shifts here, from merely bitter to something closer to anger, and Sam’s heart skips a beat, because Lucifer is angry at _him_ , surely, and in that moment he forgets that Lucifer is bereft of his powers, that his movements as a human are still fumbling and awkward, that he’s promised time and time again never to hurt Sam.

  
“And I took it anyway,” he finishes, and now Sam’s heart is fluttering a funny number he can’t quite put words to, because Lucifer is angry at _himself_ , and it _hurts_ , this remorse the Devil is showing so earnestly.

  
“You gave yourself up to me of your own free will, but not of your own desire. I knew it, but still I took what you offered. It was fate, I thought, that you would come to accept me after you let me in. Our union was meant to be perfect, mutual. I longed to please you.”

  
And yeah, Sam’s having major misgivings about the direction this conversation is taking, especially considering some of the word choices Lucifer is making, but when Lucifer's hand, no longer trembling, but determined, strays from his own jeans to rest on Sam’s knee, he can’t find it in himself to push it away.

  
“I am the only one who benefited. I got what I wanted from you, at the time, at least”- and Sam is going to pointedly ignore the implications there- “but it wasn’t what _you_ wanted.”

  
And he sounds so pained. Sam makes an aborted gesture, reaching out to touch Lucifer but dropping his hand at the last minute, unsure how his touch might be received.

  
“Don’t you see?” He- well, demands is the wrong word for it. It’s much gentler, as though Lucifer is afraid to demand anything from him, even his consideration. “I spent millennia, vastly longer than you can possible comprehend, fantasizing how perfect it would be when you and I finally joined together. I wanted it more than revenge, more than the world. But once I finally had you, I was unable to enjoy it. Because of you and your stubborn refusal to accept fate’s decree.” And he is frustrated now, definitely, but not at anything in particular, and Sam is no longer afraid.

  
Both of his hands have, at this point, made their way to Sam’s knees. The touch is cautionary, as if he’s unsure whether it might frighten Sam away, but unwavering. It is less sexual and more exploratory, but Sam still feels as if the light pressure of Lucifer's hands on his leg is burning a hole through his jeans (impossible, considering Lucifer still runs a little colder than what should be healthy, a little reminder that even graceless, he’ll never be quite human. And that thought alone should repel Sam. Ought to make him want to get up and walk away before something catastrophic happens, but god help him, he _doesn’t_ ).

  
“Lucifer?”

  
“You let me in,” Lucifer mumbles, and suddenly, he’s close enough for his nose to brush Sam’s, for his breath to ghost against Sam’s skin. “I want to return the favor.”

  
For a moment, Sam’s brain is blank. He blinks. Then it clicks, what Lucifer is offering, the late-night visit to his room, the unexpected heart-to-heart, the trembling.

  
“No,” Sam tells him, numbly.

  
As long as he’s been hunting, even back when he was sixteen, barely more than a kid, there’s been the occasional almost monster-victim that tries to offer “payment” for services rendered. Sam’s never once accepted. Neither has Dean, so far as he knows, because Dean’s morals may be what some would call loose but he’s always known wrong is _wrong_.

  
And, being honest with himself (because now is the time to shed self-delusion, this is the turning point, isn’t it, and honesty is key), he’s thought about it, what Lucifer is offering. _Damn him_ , but he’s thought about it. Late at night, when the rest of the bunker’s inhabitants are asleep and no one can hear his stifled moans, in the shower where the cooling spray can wash away his shame.

  
He’s thought about it, but this he never expected. It can’t be like this. He’s been jaded by a good many things in his life, but for an Archangel to throw himself across the metaphorical sacrificial altar like a small-town girl who’s been taught she owes men for their kindnesses…

  
“Sam,” Lucifer exhales against his neck, shaky, and the trembling has returned to his hands, but his voice when he continues is every bit as flat as Sam’s was, moments ago. “Allow me to do this for you.”

  
“I…I can’t,” and Sam wonders what that says about him, that the idea of taking advantage of the Devil pains him so.

  
And Lucifer has moved away, incrementally, and is not looking at him, as if ashamed of this rejection, and Sam supposes he probably is, he’s just offered himself up to a being infinitely less significant than himself and been turned down.

  
“I won’t do that to you.”

  
And at that Lucifer looks up, mouth forming a tiny “oh” of comprehension. He chuckles, dryly, as if still unused to the idea of laughter.

  
“I think you’ve misunderstood me, Sam.” And his hand trails lightly up Sam’s leg, coming to rest on his thigh. “We can longer share one body, but it seems even now, we will never be free of fate. I still _want_ you. Every bit as much as, and in the same way, you want me.”

  
And Sam has to sputter, then, both because of the placement of Lucifer’s hand and the admission, that this alien being of strange and cosmic desires, one who prides himself on being above humanity, has apparently found himself prey to the draw of the flesh. And Lucifer himself looks a bit disgusted by his own admission, but he doesn’t seem to be drawing back.

  
This is it. All the cards are on the table and it’s up to him to determine the course of this hand. Lucifer, for his part, looks terribly unsure, so it is Sam who draws him closer, mumbling “C’mere,” and reaching out to drag him in by his collar.

  
His lips are cold against Sam’s own, every bit as cold as he’d expected, and his stubble (a few days’ worth of it, Lucifer had yet to grasp the importance hums assigned to tasks like shaving, maybe never would) against Sam’s cheek foreign and rough but not unwelcome. The kiss is hesitant, as if he’s still registering that this is actually happening.

  
His hands move from Sam’s thighs to waist, then wrap around the small of his back, like maybe he’s unsure what’s acceptable. He seems reluctant to take control, so Sam does, gliding his hands to Lucifer’s shoulders and pushing, ever so gently, until Lucifer's back hits the mattress.

  
Lucifer makes a little whine, low in the back of his throat, whether because Sam has broken the kiss or because he’s feeling the kindling of arousal, Sam doesn’t know, but he does know that that little noise does things to him, so he chases after Lucifer, pressing down on top of him and reclaiming his chill lips in another kiss.

  
This kiss is less gentle, and Lucifer seems more willing to be an active participant, as if reassured by the brush of Sam’s hardness against his own. Still his movements are clumsy, awkward, and Sam has to assume that this is his first time kissing someone in this body, refuses to consider that this may be his first time kissing anyone, _ever_ , because this is weird enough already. Lucifer parts his lips, panting against Sam’s, and Sam takes that as an invitation, plunges his tongue into Lucifer’s waiting mouth. He seems surprised by this development, but pleased, if the low growl he’s just made is anything to go by. Sam drags his tongue across Lucifer’s, learning every inch of his mouth, slow and thorough. Lucifer’s hands wander vaguely, from Sam’s lower back to his shoulder blades, clutching him tightly there.

  
Sam withdraws, and Lucifer makes a noise of protest, following Sam’s retreating lips before falling back against the pillow in resignation. Sam looks down on his work, pleased. Lucifer’s face is flushed; his eyes wide and incredulous, his altogether too clothed chest heaving. He glares up at Sam, as if to tell him to get on with it. Sam can’t hold back a grin, and reaches for the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of himself and tossing it onto the floor. It is something of a struggle, but they manage to divest Lucifer of his shirt next, undoing the buttons one at a time, Sam tracing every inch of Lucifer’s skin as it is exposed until his whole chest is bared for Sam. He’s more hindered than helped by Lucifer’s fumbling, but between the two of them, they drag the shirt off, pitching it somewhere in the general vicinity of Sam’s.

  
“Sam,” Lucifer breathes, threading his fingers through Sam’s hair and tugging him back down on top of him. Much to his frustration, Sam’s lips do not meet his own, though that frustration instantly dissipates when instead, they find his neck, and Sam’s tongue darts out to lick a trail down to his collarbone, where Sam fastens his lips and sucks.

  
Lucifer moans at that, and it sounds almost like a noise of distress, and really, Sam knows he shouldn’t find that so hot, but his upstairs brain has taken the rest of the night off, and he bites down, worrying at the skin with his teeth. Lucifer positively fucking writhes beneath him at that, fingers tightening in Sam’s hair as if to tug him away, but he doesn’t, he only drags him closer, panting heavily between moans. Sam’s hand finds Lucifer’s chest and he ghosts his thumb across a nipple. Lucifer hisses at that, bucking up into Sam, bringing their hard-ons together and making Sam’s breath stutter at the sudden friction.

  
“Fuck me,” he commands, impatient, imperious, and Sam is reminded that this is Lucifer, this is an _archangel_ he’s got writhing beneath him, arching into his touch like this is the first time he’s ever done this, and Sam is starting to think it might be.

  
Sam is all too happy to oblige. He peels his body off of Lucifer’s, earning a warning growl of displeasure until Lucifer realizes he’s just fumbling in the drawer beside his bed for a packet of lube, sitting there hopefully since he’d bought it, almost a month ago, because hey, better safe than sorry.

  
He returns to Lucifer, kissing a trail down his abdomen towards the waistband of his jeans. Upon reaching it, Sam mouths lightly at Lucifer’s hip as he unbuckles his belt and drags his pants down, slowly, not even bothering with buttons or zipper, tugging his boxers along with them, allowing his trapped cock to spring free. He kisses the tip of it, lightly, briefly, eliciting a feral noise, between a growl and a moan, from Lucifer, before sliding down the bed, pulling Lucifer’s pants with him. From the foot of the bed he peers up at Lucifer, completely naked and stretched out before him, legs bent and heels planted firmly on the bedspread. Lucifer gazes back, and there’s no cold burn in those eyes any longer, they’re full of heat, heat and want, all for Sam. Lucifer looks at him like he’s the most perfect thing on earth, and it hits Sam then that to Lucifer, he just might be.

  
He crawls back up to Lucifer, grasping him by the hips. Slowly, tentatively, he lowers his head and presses his lips to the head of lucifer’s cock. Lucifer’s sharp intake of breath at that is all the incentive Sam needs to continue, licking down Lucifer’s shaft before lifting back up to swirl his tongue around the slit. Lucifer’s hips stutter, as if he’s trying to prevent himself from thrusting into Sam’s touch, and really, Sam doesn’t want him to hold back, so he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, sinking down, taking in as much of Lucifer as he can manage. Which wasn’t much, it turned out, this was harder than it looked, but judging by the way lucifer’s fingers grip his scalp, he wasn’t complaining. Bobbing his head gently, Sam reached out for the lube packet, tearing it open and drizzling it onto his fingers. Guiding Lucifer’s legs open wider with his dry hand, he reached out until his slick finger made contact with Lucifer’s entrance. Lucifer twitched at that, and Sam withdrew questioningly.

  
“No,” he gasped. “Continue.”

  
Satisfied, Sam’s fingers found his entrance again, circling it cautiously before pressing one inside. Slowly, wary of hurting Lucifer, who was still so new to human sensations of pain, Sam slid his finger all the way in. He felt Lucifer still, perhaps in discomfort, so he hollowed his cheeks and hummed around his cock to distract him. It worked, because Lucifer urged him on, and Sam added a second finger alongside the first, sliding in to the first knuckle, second, withdrawing slowly before pushing back in. Sam crooked his fingers, searching, aware of what he was looking for but unsure how to- oh. Oh. He must have found it, because Lucifer pushed back against Sam’s fingers suddenly.

  
“More,” he panted.

  
Sam obliged, pulling out his fingers and then pushing them back in, rubbing at that spot, drawing little keening noises from Lucifer. He scissored his fingers, stretching, preparing Lucifer for what was to come. Once he was satisfied with his ministrations he pulled his fingers out, tugging his mouth off of Lucifer with a wet and downright obscene pop. He sat back oh his heels, hastily undoing his pants and tugging them down just enough to expose his cock, which he then wrapped his hand around, spreading the lube along his length. He descended on Lucifer once more, grabbing his thighs just above the knee, spreading his legs and positioning himself between them.

  
“Are you…?” He whispered.

  
The noise Lucifer makes is one of annoyance. “I won’t break, Sam.” He tells him

  
Sam wants to argue that yes, he might, he’s all too human now, but really, he’s waited long enough. His arousal is almost painful at this point, and if Lucifer is ready, Sam is ready.

  
He lines his cock up with Lucifer’s hole, and slowly, carefully, pushes in. Lucifer clenches his teeth at the initial sensation, but wraps his legs around Sam, urging him closer, and Sam continues, sliding in until he’s fully sheathed inside of Lucifer.

  
His legs are trembling, and a faint sheen of sweat has beaded on his forehead, which Sam leans in to kiss away.

  
Lucifer clasps his hands around Sam’s head, raises his lips to Sam’s ear and whispers “move,” fierce and just the slightest bit overwhelmed, and Sam can’t possibly deny him.

  
He pulls out until just the tip of his cock is left inside, then slams forward, wrenching a strangled cry from Lucifer. He decides he likes that noise, so he does it again, and Lucifer doesn’t disappoint. They build up something of a rhythm like that, Sam thrusting into him, wanting more, more, _more_ , and Lucifer pushing back against him, fucking himself on Sam’s cock and breathing in time to Sam’s thrusts, his heartbeat, and he was right all along, they really are _perfect_ for each other, they should have been doing this from the moment they met, and why had Sam never seen that before?

  
Lucifer’s breathing becomes more erratic, his eyes wide in something that someone who didn’t know better might call terror, and Sam leans forward and plants sloppy, open mouthed kisses on his slack lips. He wraps a hand around his twitching cock, pumping him harder than what should be pleasant but Lucifer just takes it all, doesn’t complain, merely finds Sam’s shoulders and digs in with his nails. And it stings, tomorrow Sam’s back will be sore and there’s a talk about how often humans need to clip their nails somewhere in Lucifer’s future but nothing like that is going through Sam’s mind at the time because Lucifer is coming, clenching around Sam’s cock as Sam continues to jack him through his orgasm, spurting across their chests and crying out for Sam, _Sam_!

  
And that, the clenching and the stinging, and all of it, really, but most of all the sound of his name on the Devil’s tongue, a broken sob from the throat of a broken archangel, like he’s the only person that matters, sends Sam over the edge moments after Lucifer. And he should have warned him, should have pulled out, but Lucifer is sighing contentment as Sam’s hot cum paints his insides. And now he’s panting, trying to tug Sam closer, but Sam pulls out, collapses next to Lucifer, who looks every bit as boneless in his post-orgasmic haze as Sam feels. His eyes are half-lidded, and a bruise is coming to on his collarbone, and he seems disinclined to move, so Sam draws him closer, easy as moving a rag doll despite his considerable height, and holy shit it’s _Sam_ who’s responsible for the look of exhausted adoration the fucked-out former-archangel is directing at him.

  
It’s a little disconcerting. Satisfying, but disconcerting.

  
He thinks, maybe, he could get used to it.


End file.
